Wilder, J. C. - Shadow Dweller 2

by Retribution(lit)

  Deep inside her.

  Jennifer scowled and squelched that thought. It'd been a century since she'd last set eyes on him. The last thing she needed was for him to reappear and wreak havoc in her life. She knew it was naïve to think that Mac wouldn't hear about the incident with Mikhail. Was that why he was here now?

  She pushed that thought away. Conor MacNaughten didn't care enough about her to spit on her if she was on fire. A stab of pain shot through the remains of her heart. He'd loved her once, and she'd destroyed those precious feelings in one fell swoop. His current opinion of her couldn't be clearer if he paid someone to sky-write it.

  So why was he here and what did he want?

  Jennifer squared her shoulders and smoothed her trim black skirt into place. Lurking in the dining room watching him like some sort of Peeping Tom was not going to get her questions answered. She prided herself on being a grab-the-bull-by-the-horns kind of girl, and now was a good time to test that theory.

  She stepped out onto the deck into the brilliant sunshine.

  "You really should buy some food," Mac spoke without turning around.

  "Why? I don't need much," Jennifer shot back.

  "What about when your friends visit?"

  "No one ever visits."

  Mac glanced over his shoulder, his brow lifted slightly. "No vampires either?"

  Jennifer's gaze wavered and then slid away from his. "No. No one is welcome here." The unspoken words even you hung in the air.

  "Good," Mac said decisively.

  Her gaze met his once again. "What is good about that?"

  He turned to face her, his expression distant, cold. "I wanted to make sure no one has been sleeping on my side of the bed since I've been gone."

  She gaped at him. "You never had a side of the bed," she spluttered.

  "Until now." He picked up his coffee mug and took a drink. "I would prefer the left side please, nearest the door."

  "Until now, nothing," she raged. "Who in hell do you think you are? You and I are old news and you have no say in who visits my bed. None at all." Jennifer stopped as a sharp wave of dizziness washed over her. She groped for the railing as her knees began to buckle.

  Strong hands caught her before she hit the ground and she found herself in Mac's arms. Within seconds she was carried into the house and gently deposited on the gray leather couch.

  "You need to eat," he stated baldly. "You've lost too much weight." He grabbed a cream colored afghan from a nearby rocking chair and tucked it over her legs.

  Jennifer rubbed her forehead as the dizziness began to dissipate. "I was a cow when you knew me before. Of course I've lost weight. I don't normally get dizzy when I need to eat..."

  "You don't normally act as dinner for a sadistic Elder either," Mac pointed out. He settled himself on the couch beside her. "And if you would keep more fresh food around rather than frozen pizza and Pepe's Frozen Burrito Supremes, you would be in better shape physically."

  She groaned and allowed her head to drop back on the arm of the couch, "Don't tell me you've turned into a health food nut." She tried to move away from the warm, very masculine thigh pressed against her hip. He was deliberately crowding her against the back of the couch by sitting down on the edge of her skirt, effectively trapping her.

  "I'm hardly a health food nut but I do know there is more in the Epicurean world than burritos and frozen pizza bites." A faint smile curved his mouth. "Today we are having bacon and scrambled eggs with toast, since that is all you have available. Would you care to eat in the kitchen or here on the couch?"

  At the sight of that smile on those wicked lips, her mouth went dry. She shifted her gaze away as her heart beat a little bit faster. Her eyes skimmed the expanse of naked chest, to the soft worn jeans. Nope, don't look there; don't even think about it! She fixed her gaze on the foot of the couch. "Here, please," she mumbled through dry lips.

  He caught her chin and forced her gaze to meet his. "I would suggest that you eat every bite. Mikhail appears to have taken a great deal out of you." His voice was gentle.

  Tears stung her eyes. How could he be so unbearably brutal one minute and then act as if he almost cared about her the next? What kind of a game was he playing now?

  "Thank you," she pulling away from his touch.

  Mac nodded curtly and rose from the couch. Within fifteen minutes he reappeared, damp shirt intact, with a tray filled with glasses of reconstituted orange juice and two plates heaped with bacon, scrambled eggs and toast. Silently he held out a glass of juice. As Jennifer reached for it, her nerves sang out as he leaned toward her.

  Their fingers brushed and a shiver rippled over her skin. Stung, she grabbed the glass and pulled away from him, ignoring his raised brow. She murmured her thanks and lifted the glass to her lips, gulping it thirstily. Mac settled the tray over her knees then removed his glass and plate.

  "Why did you confront Mikhail last night?" He asked as he settled himself on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table.

  Jennifer lowered the glass. "I had to make sure Miranda was all right."

  "He could have killed you."

  "He needed me too much to kill me," Jennifer sighed. "He needed me to report back to Val what was going on. My going over there was a setup from the beginning."

  "And you walked right into it?"

  "I had no choice," Jennifer set her glass on the tray and began eating the eggs. They were fluffy and spiced with basil and a touch of rosemary. She wanted to groan out loud as she swallowed the first bite. "It's over and done with." She reached for a slice of toast heavily laden with butter and lemon curd, just the way she liked it. Taking a big bite, she tried to chew normally without gulping her food down, surprised at how hungry she was.

  "What are you going to do?" He asked quietly.

  Jennifer hesitated, a slice of crisp bacon halfway to her mouth. "Well, I don't see there are many choices in the matter. I have to figure out how to get Miranda out of there." Images of the silver room and the terrors within crowded her mind. She shook her head to rid herself of the disturbing images. "And fast."

  "Then I guess we'll have to go in and get her," he replied lightly.

  She dropped the bacon to her plate. "We're not going to do anything. I'm going to take care of this myself."

  "You'll never make it."

  She glared at Mac. "I..."

  "Admit it Jennifer. Mikhail scares the crap out of you and you can't carry this off on your own. You need help," his tone was sharp, angry.

  "And he wouldn't think twice of killing you," she shot back. "Revenant or not, we're both still human and make no mistake, he will kill you."

  "Damn it," he snarled. "What in the devil makes you think that I need your protection? I've lived the past thousand years without you dogging my every step and I am still here. I'm more than seven hundred years older than you are. Quit treating me like a schoolboy in short pants. You're the one that needs a keeper. Mikhail could have killed you today."

  "He wouldn't have killed me," she ground out. "You don't understand, he needed me to carry the message to Val about Miranda..."

  "You cannot be that naïve, Jennifer. Mikhail could've hired a messenger service to deliver his damned message to Val." Mac got to his feet, his lunch half-eaten. "Cut the crap, Jen. There has to be a better reason for you to risk your life than to carry a message to Val."

  She swallowed and shook her head in denial. "Miranda is my friend, one of my only friends," she whispered. "I can fix this. I don't want you involved in this mess."

  "How can you fix this better than anyone else?" His voice was low, deadly. "What makes you so sure that he won't use you to get back at Val?"

  Pain squeezed at her heart as she spoke, "Mikhail is my," the word caught in her throat, "master. He won't hurt me."

  The silence was oppressive, relieved only by the faint sound of the wind in the trees. Jennifer braved a glance at Mac, she flinched at the expression on his face. His gaze had gone flat, his face
stony.

  "Did you know this was going to happen? Did you know Mikhail was going to kidnap Miranda?"

  She shook her head. "No. I didn't know until Renault called me. I hadn't spoken to..."

  "Pack your things," he broke in. "Enough for three days. We're going to get Miranda out of that hell hole your master made for her."

  "Mac," she whispered, "I just..."

  "I don't want to hear it," he interrupted her again. "Once we have accomplished this I hope you and your master rot in hell together. But I tell you this, Jennifer, if you betray me again, I will gladly kill you myself."

  The tattered remains of her heart shattered into a million pieces as she nodded mutely. Woodenly she set her unfinished lunch tray on the coffee table and rose to her feet. Starting toward the steps, Jennifer stopped as his hand curled around her forearm. She stared steadfastly at the knotty pine flooring, refusing to look into his eyes until he caught her chin and forced her head back, his steely gaze clashing with hers.

  "Don't bother packing any underwear, you won't need it," Mac smiled, it was a cruel smile that sent shivers down her spine. "When I send you back to your lover, it will be my name on branded on your lips, not his."

  Jennifer wrenched her arm away, heartily tired of fighting men who wanted to overpower her and bend her to their will. Men who wanted to own her and destroy what little soul she had left. "Not without my permission Mac," she ground out. "Never without my permission."

  He laughed as she mounted the stairs; "We'll see how long you can last, Jennifer. We'll see."

  * * *

  Chapter 4

  London

  Jennifer pressed her forehead against the cool glass of the window. Chelsea lay before her under a thick coating of gleaming snow, its lights glittering like a tawdry Victorian necklace. How long had it been since she'd stayed in London for any period of time? She loved this city. It ranked right up there with Paris in her heart. She loved the ambiance of the busy streets and the tiny shops stuffed with wares.

  While Monmatre had starving artists out hawking their wares in exchange for a hot meal, bottle of cheap wine or cold hard cash, on the outskirts of London there were thousands of nooks and crannies to get lost in. The verdant green of the distant English countryside and the historic moldering castles pulled at her soul. While removed from London it was hard to mark the passage of time, but when she returned it stared her in the face. With the changes evident in the Tower and other historic sites, it was heart- wrenching to remember people and times long past.

  Earlier in the evening, the bustle of Christmas shoppers, congested traffic and the pedestrians on the streets created a cacophony of music in her soul in a way that very few things did. Just as the man in the other room reached parts of her heart that she thought had long since been lost to the light. But now at midnight, the streets were quiet and still.

  For the past seventeen hours, since she'd awoken to find Mac in her bed, her mind had been running in circles trying to figure out how to extricate Miranda from this mess. She was no closer to answers than she'd been earlier in the day. If anything she was more confused than ever.

  A soft knock interrupted her musing.

  "It's open."

  The door opened and golden light spilled into the dim bedroom. Mac's broad shoulders filled the doorway, his face in shadow. "I've fixed some food for us. We need to eat and then try and get some rest. Renault will be here around noon."

  Jennifer forced herself away from the window. The scene earlier this morning had left her feeling terribly vulnerable and exposed. She would like nothing more than to avoid Mac for another hundred years but that wasn't going to happen, at least not until Miranda was free and they could go their separate ways.

  "He's bringing the plans for Mikhail's house?" She marveled at the cool sound of her voice. A bystander would never have known this man had torn her heart out and destroyed it only this afternoon. She moved through the doorway even though Mac didn't move to grant her more room. Her shoulder brushed his chest and she forced herself to not recoil from his touch.

  "Yes. He's bringing them and we'll set up our plan of attack. The sooner we get Miranda out of there the better."

  And the sooner you will be rid of me. She nodded mutely as she led the way out of the bedroom and down the steps. The sudden warmth and light of the living room caused her to realize how chilled she was after the dim coolness of the bedroom. Mikhail's attack had taken more out of her than she'd thought.

  The scent of fresh baked bread and sausages pervaded the room and her stomach growled in answer. A small table covered in fine china and silver-domed plates were set up directly in front of the French doors. The velvet night and the lights of London beckoned her. She slipped into one of the chairs, and latched onto one of the many domed covers and pulled it off. An array of pork and lamb sausages and awaited her and she stifled a groan as she inhaled the mingled scents.

  Suddenly ravenous, she began scooping fat sausages onto her plate. Croissants, biscuits and scones inhabited a wicker basket covered with a fine linen cloth. Another domed plate heralded a selection of bite-sized quiches and tiny, individual egg and cheese soufflés. She popped a cheese and mushroom quiche into her mouth. Her eyes closed and she couldn't prevent the growl of delight as the rich cheddar and chopped portabella mushrooms sang an aria of perfection on her palate.

  "Is everything to your liking?" Mac's voice intruded on her concerto of ecstasy.

  Jennifer opened her eyes to see his amused, chocolate-brown eyes twinkling at her. She gulped down her quiche and swallowed loudly. "Lovely," she mumbled, suddenly embarrassed. "You didn't cook all this, did you?"

  "I can cook, you know," he grinned. "I also have an amazing staff. Hilde left most of this in the freezer with very detailed instructions." He reached for a pitcher of orange juice, filling her champagne glass half full. "You've always had a good appetite."

  "I have always been a pig, you mean?" She selected a small spinach and mushroom soufflé and stuffed it into her mouth.

  Mac popped the top off the bottle of champagne. "I never said anything of the sort." He topped her orange juice with champagne. His voice lowered a notch. "I enjoy watching a woman who indulges her healthy appetites."

  Jennifer stopped in her quiche contemplation to frown at him." You are not to flirt with me. I'm not one of your light-skirts." She blindly selected several quiches and dropped them on her plate.

  Shaking his head, he replaced the bottle back into the ice bucket. "And when have I treated you as such?"

  "You just did this morning." Damn! She silently cursed her wayward tongue. She rather have avoided that topic completely. She reached for her glass of mimosa.

  "Ahh, I wondered when you would mention this morning."

  Jennifer scowled as she watched him heaping food on his plate. Her appetite was suddenly gone while his was, as usual, in overdrive. It really wasn't fair how some people could eat like horses and never gain a pound. "You assumed I would bring it up?" She strove to keep her voice light, unconcerned.

  Mac was smiling as he applied his knife to a plump sausage. "You, my darling, are nothing if not predictable. At least when it comes to the subject of you and me."

  She downed a healthy drink of her mimosa. "Hmmm, I wasn't aware that there was a 'you and me'."

  "There has always been a 'you and me.' You just won't admit it to yourself. If you would accept that, you and I'd be together then we wouldn't have to keep fighting this battle over and over. Of course, things will be very different this time around, I can assure you."

  Mac's gaze was hot and she felt the embers of desire ignite in her belly. Jennifer squelched her burgeoning desire and almost dumped her remaining drink in her lap with her trembling hand. "I think you presume a great deal, Mr. MacNaughten," she strove for a haughty tone and failed.

  "I presume nothing, Ms. Beaumont," he spoke in an oddly quiet voice. Gone was the laughing teasing man she'd remembered from so many years ago, this serious, sof
t- spoken man was a stranger to her. "I'm simply informing you of my intentions."

  She couldn't pry her gaze from his. Her words locking in her throat, threatening to choke her. She'd loved this man for the better part of the past century, and she still feared him at times. She certainly feared for him as Mikhail could kill him in a heartbeat and would take great pleasure in doing so. The only way to keep Mac safe was to ignore the attraction between them as she had so long ago. Mac alive and hating her was preferable to a world without Mac in it.

  "I don't want a relationship with you, Mac. And I don't feel the same way you do," she whispered, her heart constricting. "And I can't do this again. I simply can't go back there."

  Naked emotion flashed in his eyes. Pain? For a split-second Jennifer thought her words scored a direct hit before his eyes turned cool once again.

  "I don't remember telling you anything about how I feel. I don't love you, don't delude yourself into thinking so. However, I do desire you and I will have you. I know what you feel for me, it's written on your face. Look me in the eye and say it, Jennifer," he urged. "Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want me."

  She swallowed painfully. Careful to keep her face expressionless, she replied, "I don't want you and I don't love you, Mac," she lied. "I never loved you." Pain streaked through her heart, stealing the breath from her lungs as she looked away. Stumbling to her feet, the champagne glass hit the edge of the plate with a sharp ring as she dropped it to the table. She started to walk away when she was halted by the sudden appearance of a white silk covered chest. Strong arms curled around her as she tried to move around the obstruction.

  "Has anyone ever told you that you are a terrible liar?"

  Jennifer sighed and gave into the temptation to lean her head against his chest. She was so tired of fighting both him and Mikhail. What had she done to inspire such depth of emotion in these two? And why was it always the wrong emotions? As a child she couldn't even rouse enough motherly instincts in the woman who bore her to earn even a hug or a word of praise. And now she had two men snarling over her as if she were a meaty bone.